When You Sing
by SonicGirl4Ever
Summary: Kree are horrible. They completely disregard pain, which means they don't care if you're screaming at them to let you go. Rocket learns this the hard way. What else are you supposed to do when your strapped to an operating table after a mission failure?


"When I was younger", Peter started, "I would get scared of stupid things."

Rocket scoffed, obviously unamused.

"Whaddya mean by 'stupid things'? And why the krutack are we even having this conversation?"

Peter shrugged and continued piloting the ship as he talked.

"Stupid things like – monsters. I guess. Anyway, when I would get scared, I'd play the Walkman and just listen to it 'till I felt better." He looked around to be sure no one else was in the room. "And I hear you say things sometimes in your sleep. _That's _why we're having this conversation."

Rocket growled low in his throat and tossed the broken gadget he had been working on behind him carelessly.

"I don't need your advice or sympathy. Just lay the krutack off."

Rocket stared up into the bright lights above him, stricken with fear. Three blue-skinned humanoid aliens known as the Kree were standing above him, surgical tools ready and white surgical masks pulled down over their faces.

The mission had been a failure; they were supposed to in, get the information, and get out. It was a simple plan, with a few computer hijacks here and there. Everything was going as planned, but then the explosion happened, and everyone had to evacuate the ship before everyone on board died.  
He remembered running, and then a pain in his back, and then complete darkness. The next thing he knew, he woke up strapped down onto an operating table onboard another Kree ship. He didn't know where his team was or if they were alright; heck, he didn't even know if _he'd _come out alright.  
He'd tried to reason with them, maybe get them to let him go. He'd shouted wildly, throwing angry threats across the room at the Kree, but to no avail. He had even tried to bargain some sort of trade, which even he knew was useless in his situation.  
But they spoke Kree and Kree only, a language that Rocket wasn't familiar with. He was quickly reduced to pleading, even though he knew they couldn't understand him – or they could understand him, but just chose to ignore him.

"Please … don't do this!"

They ignored him, speaking their own language amongst each other, pointing at screens displaying various fluctuating charts.

Rocket tugged and thrashed wildly against his restraints, giving everything he had to at least get the cuffs loose enough to slip out of.

It was like one of his nightmares, where he would be back in the lab, surrounded by white-coated doctors and scientists who took interest in doing horrid, unspeakable things to him.

As one of the doctors stuck a needle into his arm and drew blood, Rocket did the only thing he was capable of doing at this point and _sang. _

"… _I can't stop this feeling… deep inside of me…"_

It was shaky, and as much as he tried to hide it, fear was evident in his voice. The Kree chattered in their language again, and Rocket continued to sing.

"_I'm hooked on a feeling… and I'm high on believing… that you're in love with – me…"_

His singing was suddenly interrupted by a cry of pain; one of the doctors had sliced into him with a scalpel. It wasn't enough to actually tear him open, but it was enough to make him bleed, and it _hurt. _

"No! Stop! Krutacking _stop, _you glarking pieces of shit!"

They looked down at him in confusion and slight shock from his screams of rage, but nevertheless, continued with the procedure unfazed. The same doctor was about to bring the scalpel down again to make the cut deeper, but his actions were halted when they heard screaming outside, accompanied by the sounds of banging and a few gunshots.

Everything became deathly silent, and then the door to the lab flew open and right into one of the scientists, knocking him out. Peter, Drax and Groot stormed in, rage clear on their faces. Gamora followed in last; she had a Kree subdued in front of her and had a knife dangerously close to his neck.

"Release him."

One of the doctors stepped up, but never got to say a word before Gamora screamed at him loudly, bringing the knife into the Kree's neck.

"_Now! _Or I'll slice his head off."

The doctors did as they were told, and loosened the cuffs on Rocket's wrists. The raccoon's head was turned in the opposite direction; he didn't want his teammates to see him in such a terrible position.

He felt himself be scooped up, and thrashed about wildly, only to hiss in pain; the cut on his stomach was deep, and it stung and ached whenever he moved.

"Lemme go! I can walk!"

They all knew it was a lie, and they silently left the lab, giving the doctors one last threatening look that could be easily read as 'don't ever experiment on our teammate again, or we will blow your sorry asses off'.

When they were back on the Milano, they all wanted to make sure they didn't poison him or something and tend to his wounds. Rocket did _not _like to be touched.

"Don't _touch _me, you idiots! I'm fine!"

Gamora gently held him down as Peter wrapped some gauze around his abdomen.

"Relax. We're trying to help you."

Peter suddenly remembered their conversation they had a while back, and used it to lighten the mood.

"Did you do the music thing?"

Rocket growled in response, which slowly turned into words.

"… Maybe."


End file.
